


Those Aren't Your Wings

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Angel Wings, Angst, Angst and Porn, Bottom Dean, Castiel in the Bunker, Comfort, Comfort Sex, Comfort/Angst, Comforting Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Grace Bonds, Grace Kink, Grace Sex, Grace-Powered Orgasms, Grinding, Love, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Porn, Porn With Plot, Romance, Soul Bond, Top Castiel, Wing Kink, Winged Castiel, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel have shared a secret since they met - the hunter can see his angel wings. The rareness of their profound bond allows Dean to perceive a lot about Castiel that other humans cannot and he's always kept it a secret, even from Sam. But when Castiel returns with another angel's grace inside of him, Dean finds himself strangely territorial. He decides he's had enough of pushing Castiel away, once and for all. Castiel ends up teaching him more than he ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Aren't Your Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Those Aren't Your Wings (Это не твои крылья)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3447887) by [Elly_Novina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elly_Novina/pseuds/Elly_Novina)



Castiel felt different. He even smelled different. You know, not that Dean spent a lot of time being a creep and sniffing his friend or anything - a word which made him want to laugh like a madman. Friend. He no longer had a grasp on their reality anymore. Constantly sending Castiel away when what he actually wanted, apparently, was something very unacceptable between men like them.

But when Castiel appeared at the bunker again, claiming to have become an angel, the most private secret that existed between them exposed itself like a live wire after a storm. Dean knew immediately that he'd swallowed someone else's grace.

"I-I know, Dean," Castiel stammered. He seemed to shrink right there, the shame running so deep that he tried to hide himself.

"Those aren't your wings," Dean said so low as if speaking up would shatter them. "What did you do to yourself, Cas?"

Defiance ignited his blue eyes. "I did what was necessary to prepare for war. They want me dead, Dean. They want all of us dead. As long as Metatron controls Gadreel and Sam needs rescuing, I need my powers." His words softened slightly, repeating, "I did what was necessary."

"But--" at a loss, Dean groped for the right question, "--are you ... are you still you?"

"Yes, of course. Only the color changed." He stepped closer, hesitantly at first, but bolder as their natural, unspoken magnetic pull drew one to the other. "Touch if you don't believe me. You'll know."

Skeptical, Dean debated the suggestion and finally made himself reach out to the nearest wing. He didn't know what he expected but those were the only angel wings he'd ever seen and the sudden change deeply bothered him. Once black as a raven with iridescent ripples of blue to his touch now resembled steel gray as if he'd been drained. Maybe that was the reason Dean didn't like it. It looked as if his life force bled away through his wings. Fingertips pressed into the feathers, producing waves of sickening lavender.

Closing his eyes, Dean gave a long, bold downward stroke along the inner side of Castiel's wing. Not being able to see the drained colors cleared his mind enough to recognize the sensation. Liquid and air all at once, the body heat emanating from the underside of Castiel's wing felt as it always did. The solid strength of his muscles lifted the wing, inviting Dean closer, which he accepted without thought or hesitation.

"It's me. I promise," Castiel reassured after a moment.

"Yeah. Yeah, it feels like you," admitted Dean, opening his eyes again. "I don't like it though."

The angel made an intense study of his features the way he'd always done before his grace was stolen. Feeling the close proximity and inability to comprehend human personal space oddly comforted him. At least that was like his Castiel. Not that he had a right to stake a claim.

"You feel any different?" he ventured quietly.

Castiel considered the question. "A bit like wearing clothes of the wrong size. They perform their intended function but they'll never feel right."

"Is it ... permanent?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." His eyes narrowed. "Does it really bother you that much, Dean?"

Heavily sighing, the hunter flipped up his palms and offered a subtle shrug, uncertain of how he really felt about it. The remaining strength he'd been carrying in reserve gave way just enough that he sank into an armchair there in the library. Elbows planted on his legs had him rubbing his face but it did little to relieve the grief, the self-hatred, and the sense of his entire life spiraling out of control. Kevin was dead because of him and Sam might never come back because he let himself be conned by Gadreel.

"There's nothing left," Dean said eventually. "Nothing familiar that I can hold onto and pull me through all the bullshit for Sammy's sake. You ... you're like an immovable rock. I expected to see you like you used to be and then I'd remember all the impossible shit we've pulled off before. You're like my game day speech in the locker room." He chuckled, though nothing about it remotely seemed funny. "Nothing's the same. Everything changed, everything went to shit, and I don't know how to fix it."

"Dean, I'm still me," reassured Castiel as he crouched around the corner of the armchair and clutched Dean's wrist. "And I came to help you get your brother back. We're going to find a way to separate Gadreel from Sam."

Despair's icy fingers crept around Dean's throat and he felt himself beginning to come apart. "I was so stupid."

"You were stupid for the right reasons," Castiel argued quietly.

Another bitter chuckle came. "Yeah, that matters."

The angel's mouth pursed. His head tipped so slightly that Dean wondered if he imagined it. "I'm not leaving," Castiel promised again.

"Why do you keep saying that?" He pulled his hand away from his face and looked into the calm blue depths of Castiel's eyes.

Castiel hesitated, just a hint of humanity bleeding through the stoic angel reserve. "We never talk about the fact that you're the only one who can see them just like we never talk about the fact that I see your soul. You see the change in my wings. I see the change in your soul. I see the way you injure yourself inside each time you sent me on my way when I was a man." He paused again. "I see the way you miss me."

"Oh...."

He should have known. Even though he couldn't seem to find his way through the maze, the clarity of Castiel's sight said it all. Maybe Dean knew all along but sank too deep in a state of denial, convincing himself that his intense attachment was akin to brotherhood in arms rather than something more intimate. But intimacy shifted between them when they were alone. They spoke differently, they looked at each other differently, and a vast storage of secrets accumulated between both of them. Being forced to send Castiel away when they needed each other the most - nothing hurt more. He couldn't even articulate it.

"For me as well," Castiel said, breaking into his thoughts.

His brows knitted together. "You in my head, Cas?"

"No. It's not in your thoughts. It's here," his hand formed a dome over the center of Dean's chest, "and I can't avoid seeing that like I can avoid thoughts."

"Sorry," Dean blurted. "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing."

"Don't be sorry," replied Castiel. "Being sorry implies I don't feel the same way. I may have grace again but I haven't lost the emotions I acquired as a man."

Silenced, the pair of them reached an impasse of uncertainty. Where did they go from there? Castiel watched him in that infuriating perfectly cool and collected patient way as if he'd wait for a thousand years to hear Dean speak again. He didn't have the awful sensations of confusion and questioning everything in his life churning through his stomach like lava. Things were black and white for Castiel. He knew what love meant with the experience of manhood and if he loved Dean at all, it seemed cut and dry - no big deal. He didn't have the womanizer reputation to contend with, nor did he grow up with labels. Dean envied him.

Absently, his fingers threaded through Castiel's feathers along the uppermost joint of his left wing. The steely gray quality in the new color resembled the chrome of an old car until he carded his fingers through the feathers. A liquid mirage of lavender, but not the girlie kind, blended into the steel.

Castiel's head bowed and he turned his wing closer to Dean, inviting him in for a stronger touch. It calmed Dean's nerves, not that he understood how, and he didn't flinch as Castiel's hand rested on his thigh. Through the denim of his jeans, warmth reminded him that Castiel wasn't human anymore. Angels ran hotter. And it felt good. He shifted in the armchair. Apparently his body didn't know the difference between an angel of the Lord and a woman.

Fuck it.

Leaning down, Dean tipped Castiel's face toward his by the chin and planted his lips to unresponsive ones without thinking it through. It was like kissing a mannequin. He froze, wondering instantly if he misread the angel and screwed up their entire friendship.

"Dean," whispered Castiel, pulling back just enough that his lips still tickled Dean's as he shot up from the floor and straddled his lap.

In that abrupt motion, Castiel overwhelmed Dean with his sense of control despite shock giving way to obvious desire. The angel had been holding back, he surmised, but not nearly as long as the hunter. Dean's spine pressed flush against the armchair and he watched wide eyed as Castiel loomed over him. He shucked that new, shorter trench coat on the floor, which brought out the immense shape and sharp darkness of his wings all the more behind his white button down shirt. It had been too long since he saw Castiel's wings and the fear that he wouldn't have seen them again boiled overpowering emotions. Moisture threatened, stinging his eyes.

The angel bent to Dean's mouth again, clasping his lips in a kiss so enticing and practiced that Dean remembered for a brief flash that he wasn't the first to tread in those waters. He pushed aside those thoughts before jealousy burned him up inside and broke the moment.

Castiel's hands found the hem of Dean's shirt and peeled it over his head. Angelic heat passed down the middle of Dean's chest as if Castiel spent years studying his shapes and lines without ever allowing himself to touch. He wet his lips, taking in the sight through blown pupils, and Dean pulled him down by his shoulders for a renewed kiss. Heat and hands skimmed over their hair, their faces, and their chests as broken restraint gave way to years of denying what they felt.

As Dean threw Castiel's shirt on the floor, experiencing the strength across his shoulders and along his arms brought a sudden burst of blood rushing to his groin. Having Castiel's weight balanced on his lap made him painfully aware of his need for freedom and friction, making his pelvis curl upward in the heat of the moment. Little doubt remained that Castiel felt how hard he grew in such a short time.

"Say you trust me," Castiel whispered.

Unable to think straight, Dean complied. "I trust you."

Posture straightening, Castiel stared at Dean like he'd been thinking about this for decades, centuries even. He waved a hand over Dean and suddenly an abundance of skin rubbed skin. Looking down, he realized a flick of grace left them both completely without a stitch. A sharp breath involuntarily sucked into his chest with the velvety sensation of Castiel's pronounced arousal rubbing against his. He'd never felt anything so enthralling - sensitive, silky skin encasing something so hard and powerful. A plethora of decadent thoughts rushed through his mind. Castiel ceased to be his best friend. He became his lover.

"Trust me," he pleaded breathlessly.

"Y-yeah," Dean replied just as breathlessly.

The enormity of Castiel's wings swooped over both of them as he leaned over Dean, hiding them both away from the world. Darkness engulfed them and Dean felt Castiel's forehead rest against his. Nothing so perfectly intimate left Dean feeling exposed and protected all in the same moment. Speechlessness tied his tongue, watching Castiel's eyes begin to glow - faint blue embers at first and then so bright that Dean felt heat radiating off his face.

And then the tingling swirled through his gut. Castiel didn't touch him, yet he felt touched from the inside, traveling along his abdominal muscles. He gasped but Castiel's weight pinned him to the chair. Wings draped over them both ensured that he couldn't see anything except them together, finally.

Something unseen curled around Dean's inner thigh and grazed his balls, producing an instant groan. Warmth, tingling, a finger of liquid air wrapped around his swollen, flushed arousal and pulled upward along its length. As it passed over the head, swirling around his slit, his head slammed back on the chair and his spine curled against Castiel, chest to chest. Glowing blue eyes burrowed into his and he couldn't fathom how this was happening without a hand to touch him.

"Cas..." His voice turned foreign - high-pitched and trembling. " _Shit_ , Cas. What are you - _oh_!"

Attention turned to Dean's opening, and at first he squirmed, having never explored that part of himself but Castiel asked him for trust again. He barely realized the request passed through the conduit of their thoughts. Pulsing elongated - what - air flowed into him until he began crying out, wrought out, and overwhelmed by feeling. Air wasn't quite right though. He reached around Castiel's torso, searching for something solid to keep him grounded, and the angel growled as fingers clawed into his wings.

It seemed not even an angel could restrain himself from scissoring his legs through Dean's for mutual friction. The pulsing sensation of heat and bonded emotion flowed upward through Dean's hips and into his gut. By the time it spread into a part of his chest so deep inside that he never knew it existed, he exploded. Fistfuls of feathers nearly ripped out of the thick, muscled wings as he came in long, sticky bursts.

Light bled from Castiel's eyes into his nose and his open mouth as he too came, riding Dean's pelvis in short, measured strokes. Dean might have been afraid of that fearsome explosion of grace in another place, in another life, but there in the bunker library, he realized he truly trusted Castiel with everything he had.

And goddamn it, Dean's hands trembled around Castiel. His legs even trembled as the aftershocks rocked through him. Shaking like a girl losing her virginity struck him as both embarrassing and funny, but he kept his mouth shut. Castiel collapsed over him like a limp rag, his wings so limp and spilling over the floor that they weighed a ton. Tenderly, lovingly, Dean stretched his fingers through the feathers and smoothed them down as his eyes lazily drooped.

"You trusted me," whispered Castiel just before Dean fell asleep.

"I did," he affirmed. "What'd you do to me anyway?"

"My grace. This body - it doesn't mean so much. Neither does yours. I wanted to worship you, Dean, and eventually I wound my grace around your soul. That was when we--"

"--Wow," blurted Dean barely above a whisper. "But it's not really your grace, Cas."

"It is now. It's mine because I can love you with it." He buried his face in Dean's neck and, shit, it felt more natural than he thought possible.

"I guess I can get used to gray wings," Dean whispered drowsily. "Maybe we can shine 'em up like chrome."

"I don't think so. I'm not an automobile, Dean," Castiel mumbled, smirking against his throat.


End file.
